


In the Night

by fractionallyfoxtrot



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Nightmares
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-02
Updated: 2014-11-02
Packaged: 2018-02-23 21:04:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,265
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2555618
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fractionallyfoxtrot/pseuds/fractionallyfoxtrot
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Leon is no stranger to nightmares. He knows their source; he is not impervious to the violence and cruelty he sees in the defense of Camelot. He knows they must be kept at bay; he has experience in fighting off the images and sounds.</p><p>He is unsure only of who to turn to for help.</p>
            </blockquote>





	In the Night

The patrol returned late in the middle of the night, the slow trot of tired horses and weary men making its way through the town and into the citadel. No one was there to greet them other than the guards posted at the gates and up on the battlements; no squires, no servants, no kings seeking answers.

Leon, for one, was grateful for the silent homecoming.

He issued no orders as he dismounted his horse, trusting that the other knights knew what to do with themselves, assuming they were just as eager as he was to get out of heavy, dirty mail and into a warm, soft bed. In the morning, Arthur would want to hear his report. He would question Morgana’s movements and motives, seek Leon’s opinion, and possibly offer praise for returning with all of his men unharmed. Gwen would ask the questions Arthur missed, drawing out the details Leon preferred not to retell, and he would answer because he was a knight of Camelot.

In full armor. In Pendragon red.

In the morning.

In the darkness of the stables, Leon fed and watered his horse, stroking her neck as she drank, keeping her between himself and the other knights. He dropped his head to hers, feeling her tense when his weight disrupted her eating, and closed his eyes. Images of bloodied forest trails and the mangled victims of Morgana’s magic forced Leon’s eyes open again, his horse complaining as his hand twisted unintentionally in her mane. Leon murmured an apology, soothing a hand down her side as he bid her good night.

There was no sign of the other knights as he walked from the stables through the citadel. With no one around to see him, Leon took off his gloves and began unfastening his cloak and parts of his armor as he made his way to his chambers, forgoing the armory all together. The chainmail was all that remained as he closed the door to his chambers, the rest wrapped up in his arms in the length of his cloak. Leon dropped the bundle unceremoniously at the foot of his bed and, after two false starts, managed to get out of his chainmail unassisted. He peeled out of his gambeson, adding it and his tunic to the pile before dropping heavily onto his bed.

Leon laid back across the width of the bed and closed his eyes. The images returned, accompanied by harrowing screams and knowledge he’d prefer not to have, causing him to sit up, his knuckles whitening as his hands clenched in the bed linens. He stood without thinking, the delay in removing his boots suddenly seeming very practical, and retrieved a nightshirt to tug over his head before leaving his chambers.

It had been many years since the horrors of the day had imprinted themselves so vividly in Leon’s mind. He was by no means impervious to the violence and cruelty he saw in the defense of Camelot but he had also learned early on not to carry them with him. Harbored evil, he’d been told, even from wrongs only witnessed, had a way of darkening any soul.

It was Kay who had warned Leon on his first patrol, a week after being knighted by Uther, and Kay who taught him to let go of the images and horrible sounds. It was Kay who had woken Leon from his nightmares, repeated slaughtering of sorcerers by Uther’s command, and Kay who held him at night until the images became less assaulting, less frequent, less real.

Kay who hadn’t lived to see Arthur issue his first knighthood.

Leon stood at the end of a different corridor, staring at a door that wasn’t his, leading to chambers that were not his own. He considered knocking, he insisted it of anyone who came to his door, but felt it would do more harm than good given the lateness of the hour. He eased the door open as quietly as he could, clinging in hope to a previously offered invitation as he slipped inside.

Percival slept in an awkward manner that made Leon pause as he approached the bed. The man was twisted at his waist, his face turned into his pillow, his chest and arm curled in on each other while his legs lay almost flat, his other arm thrown out behind him. Despite the positioning, he slept soundly and Leon felt a rush of guilt at coming to disturb that sleep by adding a troubled and not entirely clean bedmate. He began to back out of the room but Percival stirred, dragging out a long yawn and blinking up at Leon as if he’d known he was there.

“Leon?” he asked, his soft voice rough with sleep.

“I-” Leon swallowed, the rest of the sentence caught in his throat. He struggled to find any words, not knowing how to express what he wanted, needed. “The… I, I didn’t know-”

“Come,” Percival said, drawing back to make room for Leon.

It was said gently, like most of what Percival said, more of a suggestion than a command but Leon sought to heed it as one. He shed his boots and, following a glance from Percival, his trousers and climbed into bed. He was immediately surrounded, bed linens pulled up to his waist, an arm draped over his side, and a large hand finding its place at the back of his head, encouraging him to tuck himself into Percival’s warm chest.

It was everything Kay had offered him and more.

Leon wouldn’t deny that there were similarities between the two men. Kay had also been tall and broad, towering over not just Leon because he was young but most of the other knights. He couldn’t be beaten in hand-to-hand combat and like Percival, Kay never left an arm wrestling match as anything but the victor.

They were similar but they were not the same.

Kay and Percival were different men, each occupying a very different phase of Leon’s life. Kay had been loud where Percival was quiet, always quick to give orders and opinions while Percival waited for Leon’s command. Kay had been a mentor where Percival was a friend and that colored the comfort Leon received from them. He hadn’t missed Kay on nights when there was no need to share a bed. He hadn’t craved Kay’s touch during the day, lingering in handshakes and embraces as he found himself doing with Percival. He hadn’t worried, debated, hoped to see something, anything more in Kay’s gaze when they-

“Leon.”

He looked up as Percival pulled away enough to meet his eye.

“You’re thinking too loudly,” Percival said, almost whispered, the slightest of smiles touching his lips. He brought a hand forward to touch Leon’s face, his thumb tracing the corner of Leon’s own small smile. “Go to sleep. In the morning, we can talk, if you want to.”

Before Leon could say anything, even stumble through a thank you, Percival’s hand firmed on his face and he pressed a kiss to Leon’s lips. It was soft and warm and _fond_ , Leon realized, the vivid images that had brought him to Percival’s bed fading to a manageable grey as he recognized the same fondness in Percival’s gaze.

He was pulled back into Percival’s strong, sheltering embrace, a large hand holding steady on his back. He was free to close his eyes and seek some much needed rest, assured by the thought that before his report and Arthur’s questions, there would be Percival.

In all his strength. In his comforting quiet.

In the morning.


End file.
